The old man's eyes panicked as he looked at the needle on his body and reached out to pull it out.
"Think it over, if you don't want to become a mute for the rest of your life, you'd better not move, oh."
The old woman's hand trembled, and her eyes, hanging from their soot-black corners, glared at her viciously, her mouth open as she roared.
"Husband... Husband!"
The cry came through the flames, and on the fourth floor, the woman covered with a wet cotton quilt disregarded her own pain and strained to call down.
"Husband, Yanyan... quick, save Yanyan."
She trembled with her hands, and alongside her daughter, who was already covered in blood, they gently lowered the infant wrapped in a bedsheet, from which came the baby's cries. The woman's hands shook, but she held on tight.
"Wenwen, don't be afraid, Daddy will come to save us."
The woman, tears streaming down her face, comforted her daughter beside her.
The sixteen-year-old girl pursed her lips and nodded.
